Plan B to U

Chapter 3 - Where There's a Grudge, There's Vengeance

 

The Fine Arts Faculty café had become my friends' and my go-to spot to chill between classes. We picked the corner table because we needed privacy and, to not waste any time, Em laid out his plan to claw back the house's money fast.

 

After wasting time trying every other method without results, this was the one with actual promise.

 

Yep. Generating buzz through a ghost-story show and letting the internet pressure him into compliance seemed like the only light at the end of the tunnel.

 

"So, like I was saying, the first time I heard those clunking sounds in the house, goosebumps shot straight up the back of my neck, P'Job." 

 

Phone pressed to my ear, I laid out the spooky events with full dramatic flair.

 

"Whoaaa, with it being this scary, what's your plan going forward, Khun Nile?" 

 

P'Job, the host asked the moment I finished the story.

 

My eyes scanned the script Nikm had taken the trouble to type out on his tablet, line by line. At least the delivery would flow, and the views would follow. With a show as huge as Dead-Air, a million views would come easy.

 

"I'm going to give the house back and get every single Bäht of my money returned. No matter what it takes." 

 

We chatted a bit more before hanging up. Total time spent telling the ghost story: a clean ten minutes. Short, tight, snappy, no details, no narrative connection whatsoever.

 

"Brilliant work, dude. I wrote one script, you told a different one entirely." Nikm grumbled.

 

"I got nervous."

 

Even the timing wasn't on our side. Who's ever heard of a ghost show that schedule calls for late afternoon? Broad daylight. So lame.

 

"Whatever. Just hope that the show's fans will pressure Khun Krich into giving in." Em chimed in. But this was the real question.

 

"You think the listeners are gonna figure out which development the house is in?"

 

"You're underestimating netizens. You spoke clearly and gave them the coordinates: the house at the end of the alley, which turn to take, and the landmarks. Trust me, it's better than GPS. If they don't figure it out, that'd be weird."

 

"But even if nobody guesses, I'll go play sock-puppet to help you out."

 

"I fucking love you guys."

 

My two best friends pulled me in by the neck for a hug. That's when I could finally smile and feel some hope.

 

"Hey, what about your nemesis lately? Did you guys hash anything out more?"

 

"Hash what? He's been ducking me."

 

Over the past two weeks, I'd cranked out every plan I could think of to put pressure on Krich, too many to count. Some flopped, some held up but showed no results.

 

The one I kept hammering at was the psychological warfare angle to mess with his head. Thanks to fate giving me a chance to study his behaviour a bit, I'd learned that Krich liked ordering food delivery. And one day, his order came in, perfectly aligning with my radius for accepting jobs. Sweet as candy.

 

When he saw me show up at his front door with a food bag and my classic line, 'Give me my money back, his handsome face went pale like he'd seen a ghost. That's when I realised: if I kept up the pressure this way, he might finally get fed up enough to refund me.

 

Except...

He caught on. After that, he stopped using the same app and started doing everything possible to avoid me.

 

"So you signed up for every delivery app out there just to deliver food to his house? That's stalking."

 

Because I didn't believe he could hold out. People's habits don't just flip overnight. On a day he was starving, he'd still cave and order. But Krich was just being extra careful. If he didn't want to draw me, he'd have to scramble for alternatives. So I had to make sure I had every possibility covered first.

 

"I don't care. He was a dick to me."

 

"Gotta hand it to you for the sheer stupid effort."

 

"As long as I get the money, it's a wrap."

 

"Genius. Truly."

 

My best friends gave a sarcastic round of applause. I smiled, shrugged confidently at my own decision.

 

Life's gruelling loop continued. Class let out about an hour later than usual today. By the time I'd opened my delivery apps, I'd already lost a chunk of income. It looked like I had to crank up the pace to survive.

 

Most riders work with one or two apps. I had a generous four to my name, plus a full rainbow of delivery jackets in my kit. Whichever app pinged, I'd be on it.

 

Bzzt!!

An order from the orange app dropped first. No time wasted, I twisted the throttle and tore off to the destination.

 

Bzzt!!

Half an hour later, while waiting on food for my latest customer, a notification from the purple app I'd just signed up for popped up on my screen; one glance at the orderer's name and location, and my heart slammed against my ribs. I couldn't stop smiling. You're done for, buddy!

 

Too impatient to wait until we met at his front door, I shot a message through the app. Obviously, it couldn't just be normal; I had to go big, like I was carrying a book of cringey-cool quotes.

 

Narakorn Sirisuknirun

Do you prefer water from a bottle, or water that's poured for you?'

 

Krich Pheemawaj

Again?

 

Narakorn Sirisuknirun

The weak get knocked out. The strong stay standing.

 

Krich Pheemawaj

The app should really have an auto-cancel option. Tired of kids.

 

Narakorn Sirisuknirun

I'm addicted to coffee about as much as I'm addicted to you.

 

Krich Pheemawaj

How many apps are you on, exactly? Looks like I'll need to report you.

 

['Water that's poured for you?: Refers to a Thai Buddhist funeral ritual of pouring water while praying to transfer the merits of a good deed to the deceased.]

 

Narakorn Sirisuknirun

Hey wait, I'm just earning a living. What've I done wrong?

 

One little play at being pathetic, and he went dead Silent. Seeing him refuse to respond only fired me up more.

 

I quickly wrapped up the earlier order, then rode straight over to wait on the food for the next one.

 

My old motorbike weaved expertly through the massive traffic on the road until it finally pulled up in front of the fancy house in the evening. 

 

I held the food bag, reached out to ring the bell, and waited for the owner to come out. But Khun Krich was being stubborn, not poking his head out, so I had to message him.

 

Narakorn Sirisuknirun

Order's here. Are you coming out or what

 

Krich Pheemawaj

Cut the nonsense and hang the food on the gate.

 

Narakorn Sirisuknirun

If you don't come out and receive it, I'm not leaving; my heart's begging me to stay.

 

Besides messaging him my intentions, I also kept ringing the bell at the same time. In under three minutes, Krich surrendered and walked out with a face full of pure exhaustion.

 

"Why does Mr Customer look so sour?"

 

"Got hassled hard by a stray dog." His comebacks were getting close to my level these days. But don't think a line like that could rattle me.

 

"Here's your order." I handed over the food bag. His thick hand took it while his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

 

"This food's clean and safe, right?"

 

"Probably spit in it already."

 

"Such a mouth on you"

 

"And a pretty face to match. So when can I get my refund? Take your damn house back, bastard!"

 

"How dare you! You punk kid!?"

 

"Then I'll just call you 'old man."'

 

He let out a sigh. But I was thoroughly satisfied having said something needling enough to give him a hint of irritation. This wasn't even half of what I was suffering. 

 

I couldn't sleep because I lived in fear of being haunted any minute. My savings were draining. I was grinding myself away at work trying to escape the hardship. Everything came crashing down after I'd decided to buy that house.

 

"I'll say it again. Let go of the whole refund idea, because there really is no ghost. You're just paranoid."

 

Krich closed the door and made to walk away, but I clung to the gate and tried a more pleading approach.

 

By this point, I'd pulled every trick in the book during our face-offs. Every result had flopped. In the end, I couldn't think of anything else but to try pulling at his sympathy.

 

"That's my dad's life insurance money, you know. My whole life savings went into this house. Have some compassion." Krich froze, turning back so our eyes met.

 

"You don't have to do much. Just talk to the original owner's daughter and tell her I want my money back. The house is gorgeous; someone else will want it anyway."

 

He blinked, his expression unreadable. But seeing him pause to listen gave me a flicker of hope.

 

"Khun Krich, you understand me, right?"

 

"I understand you. But I also understand the seller who sold the house to you."

 

"Meaning you won't help?"

 

“…”

 

Not another word came back. The tense situation ended with the tall man walking back into his house, without even glancing back to see what face I was making.

 

He was running from the problem. Opposite of me, who kept charging head-on. If this dragged on, one of us was going to fall apart.

 

"Fine! If you won't help, brace yourself for what's coming!"

 

Several days later...

 

"You must be seriously stressed if you're hitting the drinks this early in the day."

 

Lost count of how many times I'd learned the word "persistence" before truly understanding what despair felt like. Tried being a pest, tried making threats, acted no better than a stalker-none of it worked. But sitting in that stress any longer, I was worried I'd snap. So I dragged Nikm and Em out to Sopon Tam-Sang to vent and forget everything for a while.

 

"Yeah, that Krich is pissing me off so bad. I'm seeing red." I said, throwing back a glass of Bu's new recipe, the one called 'Hundred-Wife Lad.’ "Come help me brainstorm how to get him back."

 

I've been checking feedback day by day. Even though I hadn't expected much, I still ended up disappointed because the Dead-Air buzz was dead silent. My story was probably too ordinary, lacking the narrative weight of the channel's other stories.

 

"Chill. I think you're spiralling."

 

"What am I supposed to do? I've tried everything. I'm done with hope."

 

Going by the principle that the gentlest solution is best, I'd tried a bunch of things in parallel and invited monks over to invite away evil.  It seemed to work for a few days, then the creaking sounds came back to disturb my sleep in the middle of the night anyway.

 

Or I'd packed my stuff and fled to my friends' place to sleep and couldn't last through their filth. Two nights and I had to drag myself back to my own deathtrap.

 

"And does weird stuff still happen at your place lately?" Nikm asked for an update.

 

"You think it'd just stop? At minimum, there are footsteps, like sounds outside the house. But I haven't had falling objects or full Poltergeist activity again."

 

"Could it be a burglar?"

 

"No way. A burglar would've hit a different house. Why mine? Nothing worth stealing."

 

"True." ...Wait.

 

"You know what, instead of wasting time scheming for revenge, why don't you just put the house up for sale?" 

 

Em was the one to suggest it. Selling the house had actually been one of my earliest plans. But when I'd weighed it out, the risk of it not selling was just as high.

 

"If it were that easy to sell, I'd be set. The house has history, dude. Lying to a buyer? I'd feel like shit."

 

"Yes, sir. Good Guy."

 

"What's up with you guys? Glum as a bunch of beaten dogs. Look at yourselves!"

 

Our tense conversation got interrupted when P'Bu strode over to greet us at the table. Saturday night meant more customers than usual, so I'd been watching him work the room, greeting that table, clinking glasses at this one, for an hour before circling to us.

 

"His house has a ghost, P'" The second the words left Nikm's mouth, P'Bu's eyes lit up.

 

"Wow~" Is that something to be excited about? 

 

"Want this big brother to give you some advice, baby-bro Nile?"

 

So am I his little brother, his kid, or what...

 

"Hit me with it"

 

"The world of the living and the world of spirits are different realms. If you can negotiate with them, everything's resolved. Family~" I'm pretty sure he was drunk. Easy to say, but...

 

"I can't communicate with ghosts, P'"

 

"Sure you can, bro. Just tell them to come to you in a dream."

 

"But I'm scared." Even my voice was trembling as I said it.

 

"I'll help you summon some courage."

 

With that, P'Bu darted back to the counter. Moments later he was back, hauling a special-recipe Yaa dong jar and pouring it into a glass right at our table.

 

Slapped on the jar was a label so flashy anyone who read it would whistle: 'Young Bull in Heat.' Just the name had me terrified I'd drink it and morph into a wild elephant. Last time Em downed two shots and transformed into a cobra, hissing until somebody had to smack his skull to bring him back.

 

"Go for it, baby-bro. Everything'll work out."

 

I hesitated. But under the massive peer pressure from my friends and P'Bu, I caved, grabbed the glass and downed it in one go.

 

"I'M SO PISSEEEED—!"

 

"Excellent. Round of applause."

 

Clap clap clap.

P'Bu didn't waste a beat refilling my glass while my two best friends kept hyping me up.

 

"Power's flowing! Chug! Chug! Chug!"

 

Yeah, I wasn't about to miss out. Once I started, nothing could stop me. Glass two and three followed, and later I asked to switch up the menu for some real soul-deep gulping. Being drunk really does summon up the courage.

 

I got up from the table and wandered all around the bar until my eyes caught some writing left by a customer on the wall. Took me a while to focus, but I finally got it.

 

‘If you keep forgiving, when are you going to get revenge?'

 

Damn right. Even the walls were giving me a pep talk, sparking sudden boldness.

 

"P'Buuuu"

 

"Yes, baby Nile."

 

"Can I bum a cardboard box off youuuuu"

 

He didn't even ask what I wanted it for, just rummaged around for one. Less than a minute and a beer box was in my hands. I tore it into a decent-sized square, grabbed a permanent marker nearby, and started writing my demand for justice.

 

But being drunk wrecked my filtering and processing power. Vision blurry, hands shaky, writing was a hit-and-miss disaster.

 

FR... no wait, it's gotta be F-A-U...

 

"The hell are you writing?" my friend asked. Embarrassing, but...

 

"How do you spell 'fraudster'?"

 

"You buffalo, can't even spell a simple word. Write it after me... F"

 

"F, then what?"

 

"R, A, U, D."

 

"Thanks."

 

"FRADSTUR"

 

Right? Yeah, looks right.

 

Em rushed over to serve me a drink straight to the mouth. I didn't hesitate to knock back the liquor for another power-up. Soon the three of us could feel some energy stirring, transforming into beasts, putting on a spectacular show for the bar's customers after pounding all manner of pep-up Yaa dong: Elephant Stomping the Stable, Tiger Never Fallen, Lamenting Lad, Pony Power. Almost knocked us out, no kidding. Going this hard without first consulting the body.

 

"Nuh-uh-uhhhh, ulp, ulp—" My stomach was starting to churn, hiccuping so much I had to clap a hand over my mouth, which happened to be the exact moment P'Bu noticed. He pointed at the giant sign stuck to the wall.

 

"Swallow it down, no puking. Otherwise, it's a thousand-Baht fine."

 

"I'm not puking"

 

"Need me to call you a ride?" he asked, concerned.

 

"Yes pleeease»

 

"I'll put the bill on your tab. Pay me next time. But for now, get out of here, fast."

 

He must've been thoroughly traumatised last time I'd unleashed a vomit fest from the table all the way to the entrance. This time, seeing the warning signs, he stopped it fast. He waved over some friends nearby to help drag the three of us into a taxi like a pack of dead bodies.

 

As we were sprawled out, totally wrecked, in the back seat, the driver turned around to ask where we wanted to go. Em was about to give him directions, but I was faster; I stopped him and told the driver to change the destination.

 

"P'! Drop us off here instead..."

 

It was the only image that flashed through my head. No idea how long the three of us sat marinating in liquor fumes in the back of that taxi. We finally came to when the cab pulled up in front of Krich's house. I settled the fare, then slid my carcass out of the car along with that dumb cardboard sign on a string.

 

The taxi drove off. The three of us stood there, dazed. Nikm and Em were wobbling on the verge of collapse, but still managed to look up at the house and mumble:

 

"Is this your nemesis's house? Damnnn~ super huuuge."

 

"But narrow-minded."

 

"Oof!"

 

I took my prepared sign and hung it on the gate, the sign with every letter loaded with all my heart's bitterness:

 

‘FRAWDSTUR.' 

 

Then I reached out and mashed the doorbell over and over. Let's see if he could stand the annoying sound.

 

"GET OUT HERE, YOU SMALL-MINDED, HEARTLESS, INHUMANE"

 

"Come on out, take on my friend!"

 

Nikm and Em weren't about to lag behind-the friend-loyalty was running hot in their veins, so they joined in shouting with fierce abandon.

 

"Don't go silent! That's no way to act! Scaredyyyyy!"

 

"TRASH!!"

 

"Outstanding work, my dudes." We threw our arms around each other in a hug, marvelling at our own insanity.

 

"We're true friends!"

 

Then we yelped in shock when the electric gate slid open. Our bodies went limp, almost collapsing to the ground when we saw the person in front of us wasn't Krich-but a man of considerable age.

 

Who's this old dude?

 

"Making this much noise outside someone's house at this hour. What seems to be the problem?"

 

"Uh...

 

That seriously stern voice combined with the no-nonsense face froze me up. From flailing around like a wild monkey, I was suddenly standing dead still. A few seconds later, the person I'd been looking for all along finally appeared.

 

"It's the kid who bought Auntie's house, Dad. It's nothing."

 

Dad?

 

Oh shit. Never in my wildest dreams did I think storming his house at this hour would land me face-to-face with my enemy's family.

 

"WHOOPS, my rider just accepted, we gotta go!"

 

"Huh?"

 

"Good luck, baby-bro Nile."

 

"Wait"

 

Hard to believe but true, the bastards used the chaotic moment to bolt and save themselves. 

 

Once upon a time you'd sworn you'd sink with the ship together, and now you're abandoning me to drown alone.

 

Conveniently, a moto-taxi driver was waiting right at the mouth of the soi. He took off in a flash. Em and Nikm must've been scared to death-they piled three deep on the bike and vanished into the wind, leaving me to stand there alone, blanking out in front of my nemesis's house.

 

"You're hammered. Come inside first."

 

Krich's dad invited me in. I opened my mouth to refuse—

 

"N-No..." but when those stern elder eyes locked onto me, all I could do was concede. 

 

"N-no objection."

 

Came in fierce as a tiger. Cut to me now, sheepishly walking into his house. And I encountered another kind-looking woman sitting at the lounge corner—the very sofa I'd slept on. Krich volunteered to play mediator and introduce us.

 

"Dad, Mom. This is Nile."

 

"H-hello. I'm Nile. I live on the other side of the development."

 

Saying it made me want to cry. What in god's name inspired me to be standing here?

 

"Just a kid." Krich pulled me down to sit on the sofa with him after noticing my awkward fidgeting. Soon, his dad started questioning me as if it were a job interview. Luckily, my tongue wasn't totally limp so that I could manage some answers. 

 

"Are you working or still studying?"

 

"I'm still in school. Fourth year now." I answered, keeping my head down, not making eye contact. He'd probably let me go on my own eventually.

 

"So what happened? Why are you shouting in front of someone's house? You realise that's bad behaviour, causing a disturbance to others. What will the neighbours think? Aren't you worried someone will call the police?"

 

Came at me in a barrage. I pressed my lips together, brain too fogged to come up with a decent answer. In a situation like this, if someone had to take the blame, I'd respectfully throw all my sin onto P'Bu's Yaa dong. Made me too damn rowdy.

 

"Don't take it to heart, Dad. He's just a drunk kid. Even sober, he's stubborn." At Krich's words, I instantly whipped my head around to glare at him. First word 'kid, second word 'kid'-talk about not being music to my ears.

 

"Quit calling me 'kid", old man."

 

"I'm only a few years older than you. How am I an 'old man'?"

 

"You're only four years apart, dear," Mom said with a smile, even though she'd already cracked up earlier.

 

It's your son who's been winding me up first, ma'am. Even if we were the same age, I'd still call him 'old man, but I didn't dare say it out loud. Talk back any harder, and I might end up sleeping in a jail cell tonight.

 

"So you came shouting in front of the house because you were drunk, or for some other reason?'

 

"Drunk."

 

"Let me tell you something..."

 

After that, I got my attitude thoroughly readjusted.

 

The most important point: Dad warned me to learn to take care of myself and stop causing trouble for others, because there's no guarantee a hot-tempered neighbour won't storm over to beat me up. As for the deeper reason behind it all, Krich and I both chose not to explain it to his parents. Better to let the two of us sort it out ourselves.

 

"Can I use the bathroom for a moment?"

 

I held it this whole time, listening to Dad lecture; I didn't dare interrupt. Earlier at P'Bu's place I'd been throwing them back hard, and my bladder was about ready to burst.

 

"Krich, show him the way," Mom said warmly.

 

"He's grown. He can figure it out. Straight ahead, then turn right."

 

I shot him a sulky pout behind his back before excusing myself. Wobbling left, then right, I finally reached the bathroom—and at that very moment, a brilliant idea raced through my head. It would be nice to cause some chaos for Krich and fulfil my original mission.

 

Once I'd arrived at that thought, I unzipped my pants and stood there relieving myself in the most bizarre stance, swinging and twirling my hips so that both the bathroom floor and the toilet bowl got thoroughly drenched and spattered.

 

Ha~ Satisfying as hell for Nile.

 

Just imagining Krich walking in and seeing the place looking like a flooded house, how furious would he be? Smoke out of his ears.

 

My heart was overflowing with joy. After finishing my business, I quickly washed my hands until clean, then turned the doorknob and yanked it open, ready to face the world. If it weren't for...

 

Shit. Dad!

 

Standing right in front of me, planted like a statue.

 

"Y-you wanted to use the bathroom, sir?"

 

"Yes."

 

I gulped, stepped out on shaky legs the same moment he walked past me into the bathroom. The door closed. My ears immediately strained, waiting for the sound of catastrophe.

 

Three, two, one, brace for impact!!

 

"How could anyone leave a bathroom this filthy? Nile, come clean up what you've done right this minute."

 

That's when I realised—today was not my day.

 

Through the curtain of my vision appeared the son of the household, laughing his ass off in satisfaction. I raised my elbow ready to clock him, but the timing was awful, because Mom—who'd been looking down at her phone-suddenly glanced up.

 

Image fully shattered. Fate sure loves messing with me.

 

I gritted my teeth, set aside my vengeance for the moment, and dragged myself back to the bathroom. Spent nearly ten minutes cleaning the toilet before slinking out to sit through Attitude Adjustment Round Two.

 

Even so, I got to know Krich's parents a bit better.

 

At first they'd seemed stern, but actually they were much nicer than I'd thought-relaxed, not at all pretentious. And the unbelievable part: they were super open-minded, constantly keeping up with trends. Topics ranged from fashion and hyped-up music to international travel and critiquing Elon Musk, and they were really into F1.

 

After a satisfying exchange of conversation, his parents excused themselves to leave first. That left just me and Krich, still sizing each other up in the same spot.

 

"Still woozy?" I shook my head firmly. Confused by the sudden display of concern, I chose to keep my guard up and assess the situation. "Eating something warm might help."

 

"No thanks. Going home."

 

"Let your body sober up first, then go."

 

"Just listening to your dad lecture sobered me up like flipping a switch."

 

"Milk?" His face was so blank. We're talking about one thing, and he cuts to something else completely. How does he do that?

 

"What kind of milk?"

 

But I also hated myself a little. The moment he steered me even slightly, I ended up playing right into his game.

 

"Got oat, almond, cow's milk."

 

"Oat."

 

"Want some congee too? I've got instant pork, chicken, shrimp."

 

"Shrimp." The moment I said it, the man across from me actually let out a laugh. I stuck out my chin and shot back with a fight-pick attitude. "What're you laughing at?"

 

"A kid's a kid."

 

"An old man's an old man. Just so you know-this one nice gesture doesn't cancel out everything before."

 

"Wasn't expecting it to."

 

He didn't give me a chance to argue, just grabbed my wrist and led me to the nearby kitchen corner. The downstairs of this house was an open floor plan, so it felt spacious and not at all cramped.

 

I plopped down on a tall bar stool and watched him bend and reach, picking up things and ingredients at the kitchen counter quietly. After a while, curiosity hit.

 

"Question."

 

"So many questions." Krich was boiling congee, eyes fixed on the cooking, not so much as glancing up at me.

 

"Is it really that hard to just refund me and take the house back?"

 

I rested my elbow on the marble island top and propped my chin on my hand. That's when Krich froze, then turned to face me. Our eyes locked in stillness.

 

"Believe it or not, houses choose their people."

 

"Nope. People choose houses. And the house is haunted."

 

"Okay, I'll concede. It's just like you said—people choose houses. And I chose you."

 

"Gross. I'm the only one who got duped into buying it."

 

"Don't want to argue with a kid." He stirred the congee with a ladle. I refused to give up, arguing until the veins on my neck stood out.

 

"The house does have a ghost, you know."

 

"Don't want to argue with a kid," Krich repeated the same line like he was just messing with me. And me, being the type who's easy to wind up, dove right in.

 

"Last night I heard those creaking sounds again, old man. If you don't believe me, come see for yourself."

 

"Don't want to argue with a kid."

 

"AAAHHH"

 

"Don't want to argue with a kid."

 

"I want to die right here and come back as a ghost to haunt your ass."

 

"Don't want to argue with a kid."

 

I used to think I was top-tier when it came to being annoying-until I discovered the truth: that I couldn't beat a deadpan human who maintained a flat face but had elite-level mouth game. At this moment, nothing was going to take him down. I raised both hands in surrender. Even if I called for overtime, I'd lose again.

 

A bowl of hot, fragrant congee was poured out and brought over to serve me. I thanked him briefly, then dug in with the spoon and ate the whole thing. That helped restore some of my consciousness—not all, but some. The world was still spinning a little. Krich walked me out to the front of the house.

 

"You good to get home?"

 

"Yeah, can walk."

 

"Just worried you'll die on the side of the road." With that, he stepped in and grabbed one of my arms, steadying me so I could stand. "I'll call you a ride."

 

"Want a limo."

 

"Sure, hold on." Wait, for real? Rich beyond reason. In under five minutes, a beat-up Wave 100 motorbike pulled up, completely killing my hopes of a luxury ride. To top it off, it was the same moto-taxi guy who'd just hauled off my friends earlier.

 

I slowly clambered onto the seat with Krich's help. Soon, my senses noticed something hanging around my neck.

 

"Take this with you. Get home safe."

 

I looked down and saw it was the cardboard sign from Sopon's bar that I'd put my whole heart and energy into writing. Honestly, I could've ripped it off and thrown it on the ground, but right now I was too exhausted to do anything, so I let it slide.

 

"Come back tomorrow, and we'll fight again."

 

That was his goodbye.

 

"Let me get over the hangover first."

 

I pouted and slumped forward against the moto-taxi driver's back.

 

The motorbike pulled away. The cool wind hit my face. My eyes watched the tall man slowly recede into the distance.

 

Before I sent him a hand signal as my farewell, in lieu of a thank-you.

...with my middle finger.